


Closure

by Ad_Absurdum



Series: Alternative Universes and Love Letters [3]
Category: Music RPF, Real Person Fiction, The Smiths
Genre: Alternate Universe, Gen, Vampires
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-11
Updated: 2016-09-11
Packaged: 2018-08-14 10:32:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,590
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8010244
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ad_Absurdum/pseuds/Ad_Absurdum
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's New York, it's late, but it's now that Andy pays Morrissey a visit.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Closure

**Author's Note:**

> **Disclaimer:** Never happened, all slander and lies.  
>  **A/N:** Getting this show back on the road. Part 3 inspired (sort of and very vaguely) by song No. 03: _Andrew the Wanderer_ by The Daredevil Christopher Wright.  
>  This is really a bit (or a lot - depends how you look at this) crap, but at least I finally wrote it (and only after 2.5 years too).

_Andrew became a wanderer  
Stalked by the bloody hunter_

_\-- The Daredevil Christopher Wright - "Andrew the Wanderer"_

 

The hunger never really went away. It was there, constantly, just below the surface of his skin - the veneer of his humanity - and sometimes Andy felt like a fraud hiding his true nature from absolutely everybody.

Only his mother knew; she was the same as him, but in the end that wasn't very helpful when she left his Dad when Andy was just a kid.

She had taught him a few things, though: to never tell people what he was and how to never get caught. And to hunt.

A necessity really since being a vampire meant he had... special requirements regarding his diet. Funny thing that out of her four sons only Andy turned out to be a blood-sucking monster ("You are not a monster, honey," his Mum would say. "You are just slightly different. Like me." She'd smile, showing her fangs and Andy still remembered the times they spent together as some of the happiest in his life).

But when she left, it all got to be too much. He was nearly caught one night and only the fact that he could run quicker than any human saved his skin. His victim still died, though - the throat ripped open as Andy, with his fangs still in the man's neck, made a careless hasty move, startled by a group of passersby.

It hit Andy hard, he had still been just a kid really - only 15 years old - and after that he decided to give up. It wasn't like anyone was going to miss or even see that side of his self anyway. Even Andy wasn't going to miss being a vampire. And it wasn't _that_ difficult to suppress the need for blood. It just required drugs. And those were always easy to get from his older brothers.

And so Andy did what was necessary, took first the barbiturates then the hard stuff and by the time he was twenty, he lived like a normal human being. A drug addict, true, but a normal one.

There was a brief time - when he was with The Smiths and Mozzer had sacked him via the means of a postcard - when he went clean. The detox hadn't been as horrible as he expected, but the hunger for blood returned. Possibly worse than when he was younger. Maybe it was his body taking revenge for all those years he thought he could deny his nature.

Andy would have stuck to going drug-free for longer, maybe even for life, except there was just no possibility to keep his old feeding habits secret.

When Mike had caught him staring at Morrissey's neck for the third time in as many days (the skin looked so thin and the vein was just under the surface and he smelt so nicely. There was a lot to be said for a vegetarian's blood), Andy decided it was altogether safer to go back to heroine.

It was decades later that he allowed himself to be... well, himself. It took a lot of thinking and a move to another continent, but Andy could honesty say now that being a vampire wasn't so bad. He'd always been able to function normally in the daylight (a curious quirk, his Mum used to say), but now that he was older and a bit wiser and a lot more careful, he discovered the joys of hunting too. And being off drugs was a major bonus - especially for his finances.

New York was a wonderful place for "people" like him. Nobody paid the slightest bit of attention to anybody else. Sure, the police seemed to make a bit of a noise about dead bodies when Andy happened to kill his meals - muggers and drug dealers were a free buffet as far as Andy was concerned - but all said and done he really was doing the police a favour.

And life could have gone on peacefully and indefinitely like this if it weren't for one awful/lovely night when Andy caught a whiff of a very familiar scent.

Morrissey. That must have been him. But what was he doing in... Andy looked around and sighed - on his nightly stroll he'd somehow wandered into the area of posh restaurants and even posher hotels and of course Morrissey just had to be staying in one of them.

In fact Andy could now see Morrissey heading for the entrance of one of those hotels and damn, the sight brought back memories. Most of them unpleasant.

Andy still grimaced recalling the court case, Morrissey's interviews and some choice descriptions in Morrissey's autobiography. The vitriol was focussed on Mike, but it still stung and why Andy couldn't let it go and stop caring about what Morrissey had to say about him or the drummer was a mystery even Andy himself couldn't fathom.

Maybe he needed some sort of closure. A row with Mozzer where Andy could freely shout at him, call him a self-centered prick and demand an acknowledgement that he'd never been a fucking session player.

Andy snorted softly and on an impulse decided he would have his row with Mozzer now. Morrissey was in New York, on Andy's turf and there would be no better opportunity. He just had to wait till later - 3 or 4 A.M., the witching hour when people became careless and susceptible to dreams. After all, it wouldn't do for anyone to see him if something happened.

Andy smiled, baring his fangs. He was not above scaring Mozzer half to death or having a little nip and a sip. It really would be better if the receptionist or any hotel staff awake at that ungodly hour thought they saw no one entering the lobby. No one at all.

His plan went without a hitch. The receptionist - glassy-eyed and completely in thrall; yes, being a vampire did have a few perks - told him which room was Morrissey's and even let him have a spare swipe card so he could unlock the door with no fuss.

To be safe, Andy took the stairs to avoid running into anybody and now he was standing over Morrissey's bed, watching the sleeping figure.

Wow, Morrissey was... old. Andy knew that of course; that was what happened to people: they got older, but seeing Mozzer up close rather than on a newspaper photo or TV, did bring the fact rather harshly to his attention.

And while Andy was older too, he did not look past thirty, thirty-five at most.

Having stared his fill, Andy sat down on the bed and nudged Mozzer's shoulder.

"Wake up, you old fart."

Nothing.

Andy sighed and resumed nudging, at the same time reaching for a lamp sitting on the bedside table.

"I will switch on the light so you better wake up."

Morrissey started to stir.

"Wh... what?" His croak was muffled by a pillow. "What's going on?"

Lamp lit, Andy saw Morrissey pry his eyes open and then stare.

"Andy?" Mozzer finally sat up. He blinked a couple of times and squinted. He looked like he could hardly believe his eyes. Andy didn't blame him. "What are you doing here? No, wait." Morrissey rubbed his face, his forehead, and ended up ruffling his hair till it stood up at all angles.

Then he looked at Andy again.

"You can't be Rourke, you're too young. Are you his son or something? A clone?"

Andy sighed. He should've expected it really. "No, I am exactly who you think I am and never you mind why I look the way I do."

He paused. "We'll get to that later."

Morrissey scowled. "Well, what do you want? It's the middle of the night and if you don't leave in the next five minutes, whoever you are, I'm calling the security. How did you get in here anyway? If the security in this certainly-overpriced hotel let you in, the standards must have clearly sunk lower than--"

"Oh would you shut up," Andy interrupted, nearly rolling his eyes. "Fucking hell, honestly, the older you get the more you complain."

Morrissey said nothing, most likely because he was so annoyed he was literally struck dumb, rare as it was.

Andy took advantage of the brief silence and closed his eyes, inhaling deeply. Mozzer really smelt quite delicious, all that warm blood at arm's reach and all that indignation making it run faster.

He looked back, sensing his former bandmate was gearing up for a proper argument.

"I thought we could have a chat where I call you a bastard and you call me an invaluable and irreplaceable part of The Smiths," Andy said hastily.

Morrissey gaped.

"What? Now?"

Andy shrugged.

"Well..." He pursed his lips, thinking that _that_ conversation was a really long shot and not likely to ever happen. So he opted for his second choice. "Or you could offer me a drink instead." He grinned, showing his fangs.

Morrissey's heartbeat sped up and his eyes widened in surprise and a bit of fear.

"What are you talking about?"

He unconsciously moved away, almost cringing against the headboard in his effort to get away as Andy leant closer.

"What are you doing?!"

"You'll see, you'll see." Andy's voice took on a hypnotic quality and he let his eyes reveal the hunter.

"My God," Morrissey mumbled horrified, but also quite unable to move. "You're... you're something evil."

Andy chuckled quietly. "Ah, but is evil something you are or just something you do?"

And then he pounced.


End file.
